


a quiet mind reveals an answer

by zayheathers



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Coming Out, F/F, Gen, I'm so sorry, Inconsistent Writing, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, aunt jo: lesbian therapist, diana barry: repressed lesbian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:03:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23494264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zayheathers/pseuds/zayheathers
Summary: Love is a tricky thing. And Diana is unsure how to accept it. But surely, Aunt Josephine will know.OR: Diana is sorely repressed, but with the help of her community, her friends, her loved ones, she finds peace with who she is.
Relationships: Diana Barry/Winifred Rose, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Marilla Cuthbert/Muriel Stacy, minor or background relationships
Comments: 15
Kudos: 48





	a quiet mind reveals an answer

**Author's Note:**

> this idea popped in my head last night and would not leave me until I finished it. I am also working on an m+m fic though, don't despair!

> “I imagine love’s truth would be a near-impossible thing to feel. I wonder if, when all’s quiet in your mind, you’ll find your answer.” 
> 
> — Josephine Barry, _Anne with an E_

* * *

“Aunt Josephine!” Diana all but yells, running to catch up with her great-aunt, who is enjoying a final stroll in the garden before taking her leave. It’s quite a beautiful day; she’s sure Anne would describe it as sun-kissed, full of opportunity and scopes for the imagination, but Diana cannot bring herself to even think of it. Not when there are so many thoughts in her head.

  
  
  


Aunt Josephine smiles, chuckling as she extends an arm. She always surprises Diana, with a stubborn strength, and Diana finds herself wondering how she is able to maintain so resistant even in her time of grief. But that is a question for another time. 

  
  
  


“Why, hello my dear, how may I help you?”

  
  
  


“How,” she catches her breath, “how do you know I need help? Perhaps I’m just here to wish you well on your journey, and bid you my last goodbyes.”

  
  
  


“With such a look on your face? No,” the old woman chuckles again, this time pulling Diana by her elbow to one of the white wooden garden chairs, sitting them down side by side. “Now, child, what is pestering your mind, so?”

  
  
  


The young woman fiddles at the hem of her dress, wondering how to go about this. She’s never had such a way with words like Anne, is still unsure—after all these years of their everlasting friendship—how to express herself in the smart, honest way Anne does. 

  
  
  


“How… did you know you loved Aunt Gertrude?” At Aunt Jo’s completely startled face, Diana is hasty to offer an excuse. “It’s just… I’ve only just learned of you, a-and her, and I… Well, I want to know more, of course. Especially considering how terribly I reacted to begin with.”

  
  
  


“Oh,” Aunt Josephine tilts her head, considering her for a moment, before saying to herself, “how surprising.” She continues on to Diana, “Well, from the moment I met my Gertrude, she’d been an undeniable force in my life. It seemed only fitting I was overcome with love in much the same way. But while undeniable, that love permuted from age to age, time to time, day to day. While compelling, it was arduous. While quiet, profound.

  
  
  


You cannot seek love in the arms of another, but in the truth of yourself. Love shapes who you are and how you experience, you cannot hope to have it defined by any person other than yourself.”

  
  
  


“But, Aunt Josephine… how did you know it was _love_ and not— and not friendship? How can you be certain?”

  
  
  


“Tell me this, child,” Aunt Josephine says, regarding her quite thoughtfully, “what have you been told of love?”

  
  
  


Diana frowns, thinking about all the people who have described love to her, often in confusing inconsistencies. It’s no wonder she cannot understand her feelings for herself, with all the different people advising her, with no short certainty, what love is. 

  
  
  


“Mother said love is hard to describe, but she recognised it as if an old friend. A-and the moment she met my father, it was as if destiny said to spend the rest of her life with him.”

  
  
  


To her surprise, Aunt Josephine laughs, “Oh, is that what she said? Word for word, as well, I daresay.”

  
  
  


Diana laughs along with her, understanding the well-meaning tease directed at her mother. “It is, but mother has always been one for—”

  
  
  


“Dramatics, yes, _I know_ ,” Aunt Josephine says, in a way almost as if she is confiding in her the most scandalous secret, and Diana laughs again. “On her wedding day, she cried the entire ceremony. Unapologetically.”

  
  
  


“What about others in your life, what have they said?” Aunt Josephine asks once their laughter has died down, rearing the conversation back to the original basis.

  
  
  


“Miss Stacy says that love is large and ill-defined. That all people possess the capability, and that we must trust we will meet it someday, because if we desire it so much, we will. She said love can be simple, while also difficult, but never one or the other. She says _romantic_ love is never necessary for happiness, but much sought.”

  
  
  


“Did she say all this at once?” Aunt Josephine asks, and Diana—for reasons unknown to even herself—ducks her head shyly.

  
  
  


“...No.”

  
  
  


“Ah. I’m sure you know, Anne speaks quite often of this Miss Stacy character, and to me, from all she’s shared, I believe she is a sound and intelligent soul, who, on occasion, can be just a little wild but expressive and thoughtful. If you feel what she is saying applies to you, then you m—”

  
  
  


“ _I-think-I’m-in-love-with-Anne_ ,” Diana interrupts, because she has been waiting to say this since she’d sat down with Aunt Josephine, has known this since she’d cried the nights away for a week following their fall out. Aunt Josephine smiles at her, kind and understanding, and she feels tears welling up in her eyes.

  
  
  


“Oh, my darling,” the older woman says, curling an arm around her back, bringing Diana close to her chest. Diana, for her part, feels as though she is six again, being told off by her mother for playing too roughly, and running into the arms of her great-aunt for comfort. For the first time, she _lets_ herself cry.

  
  
  


“This must be quite distressing, to begin with. How long have you suspected?”

  
  
  


“S-since I realised I wept more when I gave Anne her locket back than when I gave Jerry his book and the toy he won for me at the fair.”

  
  
  


Aunt Josephine makes soothing noises, gently rubbing her back in small circles, and Diana cannot help but feel just the slightest bit better. And now she has unburdened some of her heart, she feels she doesn’t want to stop.

  
  
  


“But I-I know Anne loves Gilbert, and she could never love me, a-and I am happy for her, truly, but I want to tell her, but I could never burden her with the knowledge, a-and I… I just don’t know what to do! I feel… wrong, sometimes, as if I’m not meant to love because of it, even though I _thought_ Anne and Cole successfully convinced me otherwise. And what will my parents think—”

  
  
  


“Look at me, Diana.” And Diana does, eyes red and still brimming with tears. “Never could who you are be a burden on any of the people who are closest to you, if they are _truly_ close to you. Know that you should feel safe with them. Trust in them your safety. And if that is true, you could never be a burden. I am honoured and touched I am considered one.”

  
  
  


Diana perks up at this, looking upwards and says most emphatically, “Of _course_ you are, Aunt Josephine. I don’t think doubt ever crossed my mind.”

  
  
  


Her great-aunt smiles, glad her niece is calming, and moves to stroke her hair. “And as for feeling wrong: sometimes that feeling never leaves you. The world can seem to be a place set on reminding you how _wrong_ you are, but, if ever you feel that way, remember the loved ones. The ones who remind you of how happy the world can be, and how _right_ you are in it.

  
  
  


Do not dwell on the future now, dear. You are a wonderful, intelligent young woman with a life of joy ahead of her. You can think about your parents all in due time, and there _will_ be people to support you, but for now, be content to live life to its fullest.”

  
  
  


Diana only sniffles in response, letting her eyes flutter shut every now and again. “Unrequited love is difficult,” Aunt Josephine begins again, and Diana looks up, confused.

  
  
  


“I thought Aunt Geraldine helped you realise who you are?”

  
  
  


“And that she did, but there have been times in my youth I’d loved another without her loving me back, though I was unable to see it for love. There is only one thing I can say about this, Diana, that the pain will subside, eventually. And that love you have for her will turn into another kind. Be patient. And be strong.”

* * *

It’s difficult, after realising these things about herself, but Aunt Josephine invites her to another one of her soirées, believing Diana can find comfort in the certain crowd.

  
  
  


This is how the young woman finds herself, arms linked, with one Anne Shirley-Cuthbert and one Cole Mackenzie, wearing her favourite—but definitely not her best, at least not by Mother’s standards—blue dress complete with a beautifully chaotic flower crown. 

  
  
  


Unusual as it is for Josephine Barry to have a soirée at this time of the year, but Diana knows the principal reason for hosting one at this time is Diana herself. Aunt Josephine had said she knew exactly how to cheer her up, and, evidently, the soirée was what she’d been referring to.

  
  
  


The crowd seems similar to the one last time, though Diana discerns a few more familiar faces. Among them is, most surprisingly, Marilla Cuthbert—who bares a gracefully shy beauty in her deep blue dress—one the arm of a less surprising Muriel Stacy, who is wearing matching pants and waistcoat paired with the widest grin on her face.

  
  
  


Anne is the first to greet them. “Marilla,” she all but squeals, enveloping the older woman in a tight hug. Miss Cuthbert, understandably, looks close to tears as she hugs Anne close, reunited after the better part of the year. There are a multitude of emotions on her face: relief, pride, and, of course, love for the young woman she considers her daughter. 

  
  
  


She and Cole glance at each other over the top of Anne’s head, and they both move to greet Miss Stacy, who has been standing to the side, much like the two of them. Though, unlike the two of them, her face holds not only a slight awkwardness, but—perhaps revealing more that Diana should have already gathered—with a kind of loving adoration. For both Anne and Miss Cuthbert.

  
  
  


“Miss Stacy!” Cole says, breaking Diana’s quiet contemplation. “It’s good to see you again.”

  
  
  


“Please, both of you, call me Muriel. You aren’t my dear children anymore, afterall. Though, I suppose you never were, Cole. Nevertheless, we can most definitely drop the formalities.” And with that she draws them both into an embrace, and as she pulls back, she turns towards Diana. “How are you? I’m glad your parents let you go to Queens. You can _most_ definitely shine there, thank goodness your parents finally saw sense!”

  
  
  


“I’m well, thank you,” Diana laughs, “and the person you can thank for that is Miss Cuthbert, actually. My mother mentioned their conversation was quite enlightening.”

  
  
  


“Oh, was it now?” The three of them turn, yet again, to the Cuthberts. Having finally relinquished their hold on each other, Anne animatedly recounts endless stories to her mother, who is avidly listening with a shine in her eyes. 

  
  
  


“I’m sure she will tell you all about it. How about you, Miss Stacy? How has school been, now that you don’t have us to stir up trouble anymore?” And by ‘us,’ she most definitely means Anne.

  
  
  


Muriel laughs heartily. “Well, I can undoubtedly say it is much quieter without you all. But much less eventful. We haven’t been able to induce any town-wide scandals as of late, but give it time,” and she winks before walking away, Marilla on her arm before going to dance. It seems they have previous experience attending an Aunt Josephine soirée.

  
  
  


Later, she questions Anne about it, and Anne beams a happy beam that reminds Diana of their childhood. “It’s so wonderful, isn’t it? The most opposite of tragical romance but a- a- a pulchritudinous, saccharine courtship. My Marilla and Miss Muriel Stacy, almost like a tale woven by Miss Austen herself!”

  
  
  


She then takes a deep breath, composing herself in a way that reminds Diana they’ve changed so significantly, but so subtly, from their childhoods to now. “They have been involved for over a year now, it was magnificent to read the evolution of it all. It was… hard for Marilla to accept, at first, but I think the sorrow she experienced when they were apart helped her understand love will _always_ win against fear. 

  
  
  


_Everyone_ fears the notion of love, no matter the preference or partner, because they fear their very own ineptitude, their ability to damage a rare and special relationship close to a heart. But once that fear is overcome, all that is left is the panoramic comprehension of love.”

  
  
  


Those words stay with Diana as she moves around the party the rest of the night, seperated from Anne and Cole, and making unexpected yet meaningful acquaintances on her own. She cries quite a few times that night, finding herself in so many other people. But at the end, she cannot help but think Aunt Josephine was right. She does feel better.

* * *

In the next few years, Diana no longer _searches_ for love, and without Anne’s flights of fancy in her ear at every given moment, she finds it is much easier. She focuses on her studies, on her piano, on figuring out the utter complexities of life. But perhaps, the resting state of her mind opens her heart to the possibilities.

  
  
  


At the age of twenty-two, she’s in Paris, officially visiting her sister in finishing school, unofficially enjoying herself in a tea parlour, when she finds a familiar face. Or, rather, a familiar face finds her. “Well, I never! Diana Barry?”

  
  
  


Turning, she finds a dazzlingly beautiful young woman, a few years older than herself, drinking from a teacup and reading _Emma_ by Jane Austen. Diana cannot help but think the lighting on of the window she sits by compliments her allure in a devastatingly charming way. “Miss Rose?”

  
  
  


“Oh, please. Winifred will do. Our families did know each other, after all, however sparsely. Addressing me by ‘miss’ only serves to make me feel old.” They stare at each other for a moment. Diana, because she is unsure of what to do, and Winifred because, judging from her facial expression, she is expecting something.

  
  
  


“Alright, fine,” Winifred finally says, exasperated but a smile in her eyes, “I’ll make the first move. Miss Diana Barry, won’t you join me?” Diana nods minutely and sits, still confused as to what exactly is going on, and Winifred sighs out a laugh. She finds it endearing. “Honestly, are all you Avonlea-n’s like this?”

  
  
  


“Like what?”

  
  
  


“Dark haired and clueless?”

  
  
  


“Oh, I—” and Diana flushes, suddenly remembering the incident with a certain clueless boy resulting in the broken heart of the very woman across from her.

  
  
  


“Relax, Miss Barry. A joke, if you will.”

  
  
  


Diana smiles. “Well, as I’m sure you remember, few happened to have _less_ unexceptional hair.” 

  
  
  


Winifred grins at her, and this is where Diana is conclusively certain she no longer holds ill-will towards members relating to the… Gilbert incident. “Oh, how could I forget such locks. Though perhaps obliviousness still remains a common factor.”

  
  
  


“Or, conversely, perhaps, you happen to be more cognitively aware, Miss Rose.”

  
  
  


“Why, I daresay that was a compliment. And please, it’s Winifred, Miss Barry.”

  
  
  


“Well then, it’s Diana, Miss Rose.”

  
  
  


Through the next few weeks spent in Paris, Diana finds ample time to spend with Winifred, and they begin a strong companionship. Winifred is amusing, and droll, and witty. And, on some occasion, they engage in serious conversation regarding how wrong the world is.

  
  
  


Winifred confides in her the struggles with comprehending her attraction to men and women, and Diana confides the devastation of falling in love with someone who loves someone else. (“ _Our darling Anne with an E,” Winifred says, sadly and self-deprecating, “captures the hearts of all.” Diana clasps her hand and reminds her how extraordinary she is._ )

  
  
  


It isn’t long until they begin a relationship. They share hidden moments and sweet kisses, and Diana doesn’t think she has ever enjoyed life this much since she became a young woman. Perhaps that is the curse of childhood, reaching for a time and not realising the happiest years occur when one is young.

  
  
  


The day Diana is meant to leave is one of the most heartbreaking, yet happiest days of her life. Winifred begs her to stay, in the privacy of her own apartment (paid for by her parents, of course), and says her heart cannot take such a parting while not knowing if Diana will come back. Diana assures her she will _always_ come back, and Winifred asks her how she is so sure.

  
  
  


“We have no previous commitment,” Winifred cries, voice barely a whisper, and Diana feels a pain in her chest. “For Godssake, we have yet to even define what _we_ are! How do I know you will come back to me, Diana? How can I know you will not leave like all the others? That you will not find another, and forget to come back to me? How can I ever know?”

  
  
  


“Because I love you,” Diana says, and finally understands the beautiful feeling her mother, and Aunt Josephine, and Muriel Stacy, and even Anne had painted for her, in their inconsistent words and widespread advice. 

  
  
  


She feels the love gliding from her chest to her fingers, from her head to her feet, from her heart to the tears falling from her face. Surely, the smile she sports looks ridiculous, but she cannot bring herself to care because she sees the smile mirrored in Winifred, whose hands have fallen over her heart.

  
  
  


“Oh, Diana,” Winifred sighs happily, taking her hand and sitting them down on the bed, kissing each finger softly. “I love you too,” she whispers back, later, when they are laying in the darkness, unbelievably happy and undeniably in love.

  
  
  


Diana leaves the next morning.

* * *

They maintain a close correspondence, and Diana is relieved to find that each letter only serves to bring them closer together, not father apart. 

  
  
  


Anne finds her one day with a silly smile on her face, and is instantly curious. Able to fend off her ‘kindred spirit’ for only so long, she eventually recounts everything to Anne. Recounts her conversation with Aunt Josephine, meeting Winifred in Paris, and even her unrequited love. It’s quite a long tale, to be sure, but at the end of it, Diana feels lighter than ever. Feels her bond with Anne has finally rebuilt itself. 

  
  
  


The redhead tells her to invite Winifred to Aunt Josephine’s. Informs her that her great-aunt is hosting a small, private gathering for close friends. Apparently, Muriel, Marilla, Mr Cuthbert, Cole, Cole’s beau, Bash, Gilbert, and a handful of others had been invited to attend (as per request of Anne). She extends the invitation to Winifred, who, with surprisingly little persuasion, says yes.

  
  
  


To begin with, it is quite an awkward affair. For the younger adults, anyway. For the most part, the older adults do their best to ignore the strange tension rippling through the room, but she watches Muriel constantly throw them anxious and poorly hidden looks of concern.

  
  
  


Which prompts Diana to say something, anything, to fill the silence. What she says next just happens to slip out. “Can you pass the bread please, Fred, dear?”

  
  
  


Time suspends itself, and everyone turns to give her looks that range from respectfully subtle (Marilla, Matthew, and Cole), to painfully pronounced (Aunt Jo, Anne), and a few in between (Bash, Muriel, and Gilbert). In the long beat that passes before Winifred answers, Diana feels seventeen again, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

  
  
  


“Of course, daring,” Winifred says, and the moment is broken.

  
  
  


Following the dinner, Diana finds time to socialise with a few of her closest friends before realising Winifred has gone missing. She finds her sitting alongside Gilbert, voices low and private.

  
  
  


And she really doesn’t mean to intrude, but she worries for Winifred’s well-being (as well as her temper). “Really, Winnie,” Gilbert says, “I’m sorry.”

  
  
  


“Mr Blythe,” Winifred says, voice playfully stern in a way anyone who does not know her would not be able to recognise. Evidently, Gilbert is one of those people. Something Diana can deduce from his worried expression and unsure words, “Please do stop apologising for something I’ve long forgiven you for.”

  
  
  


She watches as Gilbert exhales a sigh of relief. “Oh.”

  
  
  


“I understand now, Gilbert, that we were not meant to be. And while this was a slight embarrassment for my family, it was not something affecting in the long run. You didn’t love me, and I’ve come to realise I did not quite love you. I thought I could come to, time permitting, and that was why I held on to you for such a time, but fate, it seems, had a much finer plan in mind. However, Gilbert, I would like to apologise.”

  
  
  


“What? Why?”

  
  
  


“For any guilt I may have made you feel. No, please. I was irrational, and it was unfair of me to blame you.”

  
  
  


“Oh. Well then, Miss Rose, I accept your apology. But! Only if you accept mine.”

  
  
  


“Deal.”

  
  
  


“Eavesdropping on you lover?” A voice whispers behind her, and Diana hastily turns to find the smirking face of her Aunt Josephine. “Do not worry yourself, Diana, I won’t tell. And I understand your concern. That woman of yours can be a strong-willed one.”

  
  
  


“Yes, she can,” Diana says, unable to keep the smile off her face. An utterly besotted smile Aunt Josephine is keenly able to detect, it seems, if the answering smile is any indication.

  
  
  


“Well, Diana, I cannot express just how proud I am of you.”

  
  
  


“P-proud?”

  
  
  


“Why, yes. You have come so far, and learned so much—do not deny it, I can see in the very way you exist—but through it all, you have remained yourself. A much more grown-up, mature version, but yourself, nonetheless. I am glad you have given yourself a chance to be happy. Winifred is good for you, I can tell.”

  
  
  


“Thank you, Aunt Josephine,” she says, finding her eyes somehow, for some reason, filling themselves with tears.

  
  
  


Aunt Josephine looks up. Diana is quite a bit taller than her now. “Whatever for, child?”

  
  
  


The tears finally fall. “For teaching me _how_ to be happy. How to love myself.” And as she watches her family from the stair balcony, she feels the inexplicable fullness of her heart.

**Author's Note:**

> the ending is a little abrupt, I apologise. I just wanted to get it done so I could post it, and I feared if I continued the fic would be entirely too long. 
> 
> thank you for reading! as always, kudos + comments are much appreciated, but never mandatory <3


End file.
